Series of Desire

Sally Feldman on the books teenagers buy…

A strange sense of excitement and fear stole over me as I began to read – first slowly, then with an urgent, devouring passion as I tore open book after book in an orgy of need and longing. And yet, each time there was something missing – something not quite satisfying enough. It was totally weird…

Series books for young teenagers divide roughly into three genres: there’s the straightforward romance and relationships, usually with a dose of self-doubt turning into self-discovery. There’s horror – market leaders here by quite a way are the ‘Point Horror’ series, followed by ‘Nightmares’. And, for those who like to thrill as they chill, a heady combination of both.

You’re first likely to get hooked on the series concept with Scholastic’s ‘Babysitters Club’, an amiable set of some 40 stories about a bunch of lovable high school kids who get into wholesome scrapes while running their babysitting enterprise. No romance, but lots of tests of loyalty and friendship to prepare you for the next big step: ‘Sweet- Valley High’ from Transworld.

It’s California; it’s high school; it’s a gang of kids you’d love to hang around with yourself. And it’s fantastically successful. There are around 100 SVH titles if you count all the specials. The series was created by Francine Pascal who never actually writes any of them. She doesn’t need to; the concept is so strong that it unites every title. It’s easy to be cynical about formula writing of this kind but I am impressed by these: the series is honest and direct, the writing basic but readable and, sometimes, witty. And it’s way ahead of market rivals like the insipid ‘Sweet Dreams’ (again by Transworld).

“‘Well, I, personally, can’t believe you’d even consider going out with John,” Jessica said. “He’s not your type at all.” An impish grin turned up the corners of her mouth. “Let’s face it, Lila. If boys were automobiles, you usually go out with Corvettes. John’s more like a Volvo with an air bag.”

`Ill have you know that I’m not just a pretty face,” Lila said archly. ‘Just because I like to have a good time doesn’t mean I’m not a serious person myself, you know.”

“Oh, sure, “said Jessica. “Very serious about shopping.”‘

from Don’t Go Home With John

Everybody in ‘Sweet Valley High’ struggles to be decent, and there’s a light morality to the books which is actually very effective. Don’t Go Home With John (0 553 292366, £2.50) is a rather powerful account of an attempted date rape and its repercussions: the victim’s loss of confidence and the collective sympathy for the perpetrator. Eventually, when the kids realise what he’s done, they persuade him to see the school counsellor – a helpful reminder to impressionable readers that men who force their will on women are sick.

Scholastic’s ‘Point Horror’, a more recent phenomenon, has already achieved cult status among young teens including – a rare feat, this – boys! Fostered doubtless by the movie industry and video nasties, as well as adult horror writers like Stephen King, there’s a huge appetite among the 12-plusses for terror of all kinds. ‘Point Horror’ sounds cool, the books look cool and, for the most part, I have to admit, they are rather cool.

“‘What I did to your stupid new friends,” Lynn said coldly in answer to Shane’s question, ” Im going to do to you. They’re dead. I killed them. All but one. She got away. But Ill take care of her later when I’ve finished with you.”

Shane stopped breathing. No! Lynn was lying. It wasn’t possible. No one could kill four people at a party crowded with guests. That was crazy. Someone would have stopped something so horrible from happening. The idea was, simply, insane…

Then Shane remembered the wail of the ambulance and looked into Lynn’s eyes. Insane? Shane felt sick. Was that what she saw in those eyes? Insanity? Was that what had happened to Lynn when their world fell apart around the two of them?

If my friends are dead, she thought despairingly, it’s because of me. I should never have tried to have friends again.’

from The Invitation by Diane Hoh (‘Point Horror’, 0 590 55060 8, £2.99)

What you don’t want to do is read too many of them on the trot because then you do enter this Hallowe’en style world where everything always starts out very safe and suburban, and then before you know it there’s a psychopath in your midst who wreaks havoc, terror, heavy casualties and sometimes even death. Severe mental disorder appears to be more popular than supernatural threat; the undead will make appearances occasionally but now have their own sub-genre, ‘Point Fantasy’, leaving the Horror field quite clear for vengeful ex-girlfriends, axe-wielding surrogate mothers and the rest of the set.

‘Nightmares’ from Collins Lions, a close rival, seems to deal more in the dead coming to life and evil running rampant. They’re not as scary as they claim, but I experienced a certain frisson when I read Room Thirteen by T S Rue (0 00 674797 3, £2.99). The ghost in this one urges the heroine to kill her father because he won’t let her go out on dates:

“It’s your father, Erin,” Sam said. “He just really bums me out. It seems like every time I want to be with you, he gets in the way. “

“I know,” Erin nodded sadly.

“You said you hated him.”

‘I do,” Erin said. “I can’t stand him.”

Sam looked up and into her eyes. “Suppose we get rid of him?”

`Sam, it’s not funny. Stop joking.”

He sat up. “I’m not joking, Erin.”‘

Not for sensitive parents.

Most of the series originate in America. A few – like the romantically titled ‘Lovelines’ from Pan or the rather leaden romantic thriller series ‘Hot Pursuit’ (Puffin Plus) – are Australian. I wondered if their success here had anything to do with the popularity of television soaps and sitcoms, but according to Liz Attenborough from Puffin it’s more to do with marketing techniques. There are no comparable series generated in this country, although Scholastic in ‘Point Romance’ are beginning to publish some British titles.

There are definite national differences in attitude and style. American series books are very romantic, even the horrors. Love and relationships are the unquestioned ideal. The Australians seem embarrassed with such unashamed sweetness. “D’you really read that stuff that romance garbage?”‘ shudders Marlee, heroine of Something About Zac by Kimberley Gregg (‘Lovelines’, 0 330 33023 3, £2.99). Kristi, a ‘Hot Pursuit’ heroine, is quite deliberately presented as anti-romance: “‘What was I supposed to do? Melt? Swoon? Drop everything for my handsome hero? Naturally, I shook him off. I was busy – and he almost made me lose my game.”‘ (from Kristi by Merrilee Moss, 0 14 036499 4, £3.99).

The Australian books do tend to be sour and stiffly-written, which I put down to discomfort with the form. They’re particularly hopeless when it comes to sex. But they are not alone. Most series books have problems between the sheets.

I’d naively assumed that sex was the motivating force for series lovers. Teenagers are curious about sex; they are obsessed with sex; they’re often appallingly ignorant about it and desperate for enlightenment. In this area, satisfaction can not, I’m afraid, be guaranteed.

In ‘Sweet Valley High’ the matter is simple: you don’t do it. You just don’t. It gets mentioned, of course, but that’s all. True, Jessica has such hots for Sam that she imposes a necking ban because she can’t trust herself to stop in time. However, this turns out to be a device for Sam to explain that he’s not a beast and would never hurt her.

What you mostly get is a lot of earnest pontificating about the importance of not rushing things and of waiting until you’re ready. Since many of these books attract a following of 12- and 13-year-olds, it’s a fair message. But hardly enough for the panting, ready, older reader. Good, old-fashioned True Romance morality is the sub-text of one or two of the slightly more grown-up titles. Cradle Snatcher by Alison Creaghan (0 590 55278 3, £2.99) is one of the very few British ‘Point Romance’ titles. Here, sexual behaviour is a gauge to character. Kevin is a good guy because he doesn’t pressurise Amelia (he is, after all, only 15 and doesn’t feel in the least bit ready). Andy does, so is bad. Rick does, too, and when Amelia says no she loses him. But her friend Gill says yes – and loses him as well. At least I felt at home – this was what romantic fiction used to be all about.

In the ‘Point Horror’ story, Beach Party by R L Stine (0 590 76526 4, £2.50), sex is even more of a giveaway. The dual-personality boyfriend kisses gently when he’s Mr Nice. Other times, he does it so hard he makes Karen’s lips bleed. And even then she doesn’t catch on, poor girl, presumably because savagery, sadly, can be rather a turn-on:

‘As she started to back away, she was startled to feel his arms around her waist. He pulled her to him with surprising strength and, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe, pushed his lips against hers, pressing harder, harder until the kiss actually hurt.

What’s going on? Karen thought: I just meant to give him a peck on the cheek. He seems so… desperate. So needy.

She returned his kiss. His hands moved to the back of her head. He pressed her face against his.

This kiss is never going to end, she thought, her heart pounding.’

They certainly have sex in the Australian ‘Lovelines’ but it’s no use at all for the seeker after lust. In All the Right Moves by Linda Hollan (0 330 33022 5, £2.99), they actually get as far as the bedroom before she announces, tantalisingly, that the next bit is censored. In any case, where’s that delicious forbidden urgency when your mum is so liberal she’s actually bought the condoms for you?

If there’s sex, there have to be condoms, and there’s no way you can introduce the word without also introducing comedy, albeit unwittingly, as in The Last Great Summer by Carol Stanley (0 590 55166 3, £2.50), from ‘Point Romance’.

‘She pulled out one of the condoms she’d bought this week (nearly dying of embarrassment at the check-out) and slipped it into her back pocket. She didn’t know how she was going to bring this up to Dom, but she knew she had to… Dying of embarrassment was better than dying, period.’

Fans are obviously buying these books for the familiar, recognisable imprint, rather than for the individual authors. But there’s considerable variation within each series and some of the writers are very good indeed. One of these is the prolific Dyan Sheldon, who’s written a two-part horror-romance called Haunted for the Bantam ‘Young Adult’ series – You Can Never Go Home Anymore, 0 553 40608 6, £2.99, and Save the Last Dance For Me, 0 553 40609 4, £2.99. Poignant, pacy and funny, it’s about an Elvis-loving ghost who died in a motor bike crash in 1959. The heroine, Angel, finds him as irritating as a real boy and wishes he were alive so she could kill him herself:

‘Terrific, she thought. Other families get demons and luminous ectoplasm, and we get James Dean… I feel like I’m trapped in an episode of Happy Days.’

Now, you really know something’s happening when you start getting the pastiche of the pastiche of the pastiche.

Sally Feldman is Editor of Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour and Treasure Islands, the children’s book programme.